


Gotten Used To Coffee Sweats

by Netgirl_y2k



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Getting Back Together, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trish woke to discover that when Jessica had encountered a warm body in her unconscious attempts to construct a blanket fort she had simply folded Trish into its construction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotten Used To Coffee Sweats

Jess had laughed when Trish had arrived at her office with her little wheeled suitcase–

“You said this was going to be an overnight job,” Trish had said.

–but she’d insisted on carrying it into the motel and juggling it awkwardly along with her own bag as she unlocked their room.

Jess set Trish’s suitcase down and gestured around at the damp, variously brown motel room. “Just for you I asked Manny to give us only his second crappiest room.”

“Manny’s the manager?”

Jess grinned. “Manny the manager.”

Trish sat gingerly on the edge of the bed; the mattress creaked ominously. “What do we do now?”

“Anyone staying in one of these rooms is either having sex--” Jess grinned wolfishly, and produced her camera “--or is a PI waiting to take pictures of people having sex. Hopefully my client’s husband will fuck his squash partner early enough in the night for us to get some sleep and head back into the city first thing.”

Trish smiled at that, mostly because she knew from experience that Jess’s idea of first thing was noon at a push. She watched Jess settle herself in the window, adjust her camera lens, and produce a silver flask from inside her jacket.

Jess still drank, but it had been weeks since she had opened the door to Trish with a full bottle of Jack swinging from her hand.

Trish though that Jess drank more than was good for her, but less than she used to, and about the right amount for a hardboiled detective in a noir novel.

Jess must have sensed Trish’s boredom because she said defensively, “Hey, you asked to come.”

Trish had. She’d pitched it as a feature for Trish Talks: a night with a private investigator.

“I know, but I was thinking more along the lines of one of your _other_ cases.” What Malcolm and Trish called Jess’s hero cases, and what Jess insisted on calling Malcolm’s hard luck, never pay a dime cases.

“This infidelity stuff is what keeps me in booze and toilet paper,” said Jess.

Trish knew that Jess wasn’t spending the lion’s share of her fees on whiskey anymore - a lion cub’s share, maybe - but it was good to know that Jess was remembering to buy toilet paper.

And she knew because Malcolm had proudly told her, while Jess stomped around the office, slamming drawers and cupboards and pretending to be in a bad mood, that most of what Jess made from her paying clients went on those cases where people were in real trouble and couldn't afford a hero.

Jess certainly wasn’t spending any money on her apartment; she still lived in a hole in the wall behind her office, even if she rarely slept there.

*

Trish could kind of see why some people might be troubled by the idea of people with powers who didn’t hole up in Stark Tower and advertise themselves with brightly coloured costumes, because Trish had the best security money could buy and nobody should be able to get into her apartment without her knowledge, and she still often woke up to find a Jess shaped pile of blankets snoring obnoxiously on her couch.

In the days before Kilgrave she would have launched herself full length onto Jess in an equally obnoxious wake up, but these days she said Jessica's name first to let her know she was there before reaching into the cocoon of blankets and jostling a wrist or an ankle.

Jess undressed from the bottom down; some nights she only got so far as taking her boots off, some nights her jeans.

“You could have come to bed, you know.”

Jess had emerged grumbling from her blanket burrito. “You’re the one who turned my bedroom into a home gym.”

“I meant–” Jess and Trish had shared a bed when they’d first moved into their own apartment, too giddy and lazy and not infrequently drunk to set up the second bedroom.

Trish remembered slow, careless kisses, and mornings trying to laugh without moving her head and batting Jess’s hands away and saying that no, orgasms were not a cure for hangovers.

Then Trish had gone to rehab, and Jess set up the second bedroom while she was away. And Trish couldn’t find the words to say that she hadn’t wanted Jess because of the booze and pills, she’d wanted Jess because she was the only solid thing in a world that was being turned upside down by booze and pills and no longer being Patsy. And then before she could find the words Kilgrave had come into their lives.

“Do you want an egg white omelette?” Trish had said instead. “I seem to remember that being a good hangover breakfast.”

“I’m not hungover.” Jess had managed to get her feet tangled in the blankets and she hit the floor with a thunk, narrowly avoiding bouncing her head off the coffee table.

Jess smelled like a brewery, but hadn’t denied being hungover with the defensive whine that Trish remembered hearing in her own voice, and it wasn’t like Jess had ever tried to hide how much she drank.

“This Russian dude I was tailing threw a bottle of vodka at me. If you’ve got coffee I promise I’ll tell you all about it…” 

*

Trish was yanked out of her reverie by the sound of Jessica crunching down on a potato chip.

Now that Jess was back in her life, and Trish had decided she could live with the huge, annoying things about Jessica - the drinking, the recklessness, the occasional breaking and entering - she was remembering the small, irritating things, like the fact that you could _hear_ her eat.

Jess offered the bag of chips to Trish without looking away from her camera, and didn’t need to see her to know she was shaking her head no.

“Hang on,” said Jess rummaging around in her leather jacket, and from deep in a pocket she produced a refrigerator bag, which she tossed to Trish on the bed.

“Carrot sticks?”

“Malcolm makes them for me. Actually, I think those ones are from three stakeouts ago or something. So, maybe don’t?”

Trish picked up the bag of slightly slimy looking carrots between her thumb and forefinger and deposited them in the trashcan.

*

At two in the morning Jess threw up her hands - “why won’t these dudes just bang already?” - and sent Trish to bed. She looked up from the window just long enough to burst out laughing. “This isn’t the sort of place where people usually wear pyjamas, Trish.”

Trish side-eyed the lumpy mattress. “If I wear them it means that I can take them off tomorrow and burn them.”

*

Trish was woken from a doze at three by the rhythmic squeaking of springs coming from the next room.

“The glamorous life of a PI,” drawled Jess.

“I’m sure my listeners would be fascinated,” muttered Trish into the pillow.

“You could record an hour of squeaking bedsprings and just play it for the length of the show, take the day off.”

*

Jessica came to bed an hour later. Trish heard her boots hitting the wall and then the floor one thud after the other; she cracked one eye open and saw Jess kicking off her jeans and falling backwards onto the bed, landing elbow first on Trish’s stomach.

Whatever it was that enabled Jess to deadlift cars it wasn’t muscle mass; there was almost nothing to her, but when all of her landed on you elbow first, you knew about it.

“ _Seriously_ , Jessica?”

“Sorry,” Jess mumbled twisting and turning and trying to find somewhere to lie that wasn’t either on Trish or on one of the springs trying to poke through the mattress.

They ended up facing each other with their knees knocking together.

Even before they’d ever had sex they’d been able to sleep like puppies in a basket. And when they had been having sex Trish had used to leave long nail marks down Jessica’s back and thighs; the scratches had always healed within a day, and Jess used to tease Trish for being such a hellcat.

Now Trish jerked her legs back so that her knees weren’t touching Jess’s, and Jess rolled onto her other side so that she wasn't looking at Trish.

Trish had thought - hoped - that now that Kilgrave was dead she and Jess would fit together like they always had; it didn’t have to be physical, she just wanted them to be okay.

God knew what Jess had thought when she’d fallen back onto Trish like they were teenagers again, maybe that she just wanted things to be normal between them again too. Trish listened to Jess's harsh breathing in silence until Jess rolled up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Jess.” Trish reached out and curved her palm around Jessica’s hip, in the gap between her underwear and her t-shirt she rubbed her thumb over Jess’s skin.

Jess exhaled. “Yeah. Okay. I’m good.” She lay back down with Trish’s hand still on her hip.

“Do you want me to–?” Trish started to withdraw her hand.

“No,” said Jess. “Leave it. You’re good. We’re good.”

*

Trish woke to discover that when Jessica had encountered a warm body in her unconscious attempts to construct a blanket fort she had simply folded Trish into its construction.

In her attempts to twist herself free from the covers she kicked Jessica in the shin and slightly elbowed her in the nose.

“Mmmf,” said Jess, “what time is it?”

Trish managed to get enough wiggle room to grab her phone. “Six thirty.”

“Grrk,” said Jessica, a semi-conscious objection to the very idea of six thirty in the morning.

But now that Trish was awake and aware of her surroundings she didn’t want to spend any longer than she had to in this motel room. She thought that she should try to coax Jess into semi-coherence before blackmailing her out of bed with promises of breakfast.

“Jess,” she said, leaning close so she was speaking directly into Jessica’s ear. “Jessi _ca_.”

Jess’s arm flailed out and her hand landed over Trish’s mouth. “Shh. Sleeping.”

Trish resigned herself to another hour - at the most - in this motel room.

In the end it was nearing lunchtime before Jessica returned to the land of the living.

“What did you think of your night as a PI?” Jessica asked as she was pulling on her boots and Trish was trying to decide if it was even worth taking these pyjamas home with her.

“I think you should speak to your union about hazardous working conditions.”

Jess snorted. “You know, Hogarth has me following Pam and her new squeeze; much nicer hotels to stake out, five star usually.”

Trish looked around the grimy motel room. “Hang on, when I said I wanted to work with you for a night why didn’t you take me on _that_ job.”

Jess grinned. “Thought I’d give you a taste of the real PI experience. Plus, I didn’t want Hogarth riding my ass about using her retainer to seduce my ex.” Jessica draped her scarf around her neck and finally managed to get it artfully disheveled to her satisfaction. “You know what, Hogarth is paying me to stalk her ex-fiancée, I’d love to see her trying to accuse me of not being professional with a straight face. You should come.”

“Jess.”

"You don't have to--"

"Jess! I wouldn't miss it."

“Great." Jess grinned. "I always stick out like a sore thumb at these fancy places, if you’re there everyone will just think I’m Trish Walker’s bit of rough.”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Trish, throwing the balled up pyjamas she was still holding at Jessica's head.

“And that’s why you love me,” said Jess, neatly dodging.

Yeah, thought Trish, that’s definitely part of it.


End file.
